Lessons Learned
by Clez
Summary: Not all lessons can be taught.


**Author's Note:** This one kinda wandered at the end, and I'm not as happy with the ending as I could be, but I suddenly got exhausted while writing it, and I'm stubborn, so I refused to pause writing it, aheh. This was for the prompt of **_School_**, since I had an… 'interesting' idea. Hopefully.

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**LESSONS LEARNED**

She would always stop just inches away from his body, a hair's breath from cutting skin, and applying that little bit of pressure she would need to draw blood that would signal defeat on his behalf… were this an actual battle between them.

Breathing heavily, but showing a trademark, lopsided smirk, Tom Sawyer paced back, nodding his head to show he acknowledged her triumph once again; he wasn't ashamed to lose to Wilhelmina Harker; her prowess and strength far surpassed his own, and he always admitted it, without hesitation. There was no point in denying the blatantly obvious. She not only had years' experience on him, but she had a vast array of situations under her belt that he had only ever dreamed of… such as defeating the original vampire, Dracula. She also had immortality, and rapid healing on her side; two things Tom was sorely lacking, and for that, he was actually, secretly, quite glad. He had seen first-hand that immortality came with a price… well, perhaps not first-hand, but Dorian Gray had suffered greatly and been twisted by his long years and imperviousness to harm. Mina too had paid a great price, though he knew never to ask too many questions, and he knew she was grateful for that, even if she never said it.

"Come at me again," she encouraged, her hair slightly curled in that telltale vampiric way, when her inherited nature showed through just subtly enough for Tom to know he had her worked up, if only slightly. He had yet to see any red in her eyes though, which he supposed he shouldn't be disappointed for. Red eyes in a vampire very rarely meant overwhelming pride or glee. "But this time, do not hold back." She paused, quirking a delicate brow. "You will not harm me, Tom."

"Oh I know that," he replied, spinning one of the blades he was training with around his right wrist, before doing the same with his left, flexing his ambidexterity; keeping it balanced. "I guess it's just force of habit," he continued, trying to provoke her, he supposed, and perhaps unwisely. After all, she could do him serious harm, and without drawing blood.

"Is that so?" she inquired in a mumble, looking to him knowingly already. "I do hope you're not referring to the 'never strike a lady' principle so many fall back on in our day and age."

The words 'our day and age' seemed so strange coming from her, considering she had never revealed how old she truly was, and Tom had a sneaking suspicion she was older than she _looked_. "Maybe just a little…" he teased, seeing her eyebrows rise, showing her amused surprise.

A few moments of taunting silence passed between the two, dressed appropriately to spar, and eyeing one another in the definite manner of preparation befitting two fighters in training, before her smooth voice cut through the tension, "Attack me."

It was a dare. He could feel the challenge in her words as they reached his ears, and taking only a moment to cock his head in his usual way, he moved forward at her, balancing the weight of the blades he held in each hand, and keeping light on his feet, as Captain Nemo had taught him time and time again; his need for reminding grew less with each session, but it never hurt to be told just one more time. His limbs moved in a seemingly preordained manner, easily matched by the woman opposite him, her dark auburn hair sailing over and around her shoulders and neck as if coming alive. She was silent and focused, her eyes meeting his with every opportunity, as if trying to distract; locking her bright blue with his inquisitive green. He refused the smile that wanted to manifest, listening to the ringing music of the blades colliding and deflecting off one another, flashing in the light like flares of Nemo's creation. Their feet barely made any sound on the floor beneath them, both so accustomed to the need for stealth; for the hunt… the track and the capture. Though, for Mina Harker, capture usually led to a kill. Her need for blood was perhaps the biggest price to pay for her potential eternity.

Tom's mind was sharply focused, cutting out everything else that wanted to manifest and draw attention from the weapons they twirled and arced towards one another, feigning slashes and stabs, only to be dodged, blocked or matched. He knew he was getting better. This was one area where his cockiness and slight arrogance — not to mention stubbornness — were never allowed to show, but he knew he had improved. Mina had hinted at it, but never full-out said.

The American heard the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat in his ears, wondering just how powerful her sense of hearing was; he'd heard tales, and dreamed of it all as a child, but never asked about the reality of it, afraid to offend her. Ducking back from a slash that would have caught across his loose shirt in the front, Tom twirled the blade in his left hand, holding it reversed to his other; one pointed up and across, and the other straight down. He needed the advantage of different angles, and he saw her smile. She knew what he was doing.

Coming at her again, he soon found her going on the offensive, despite her prompts for him to do just that, and he was forced to back down into the defensive, lest she defeat him again, or drive him down into submission, even if she would never let the blade touch his skin for a moment. Concentrating deeply on the movement of his weapons in reaction to hers, he kept himself wary of her knees and elbows as well, knowing just how fond she could be of striking unexpectedly; he'd seen her in real fights, opting for the crude blow in order to deter or distract an opponent long enough to ward off another or finish the job. He doubted she would do that to him, but he'd told himself to keep an eye out all the same. Better safe than sorry.

She was driving him backward… he only then realised. He was running out of room, and she was running high on energy, from the feel of her strikes. They were knocking his own back with a subtle power that only signified one thing; she was going to win. Again.

Trying to knock her back, he had to twist one of his blades around to protect his shoulder awkwardly in his effort, and looked to Mina in surprise when she instead opted to grab his wrist, still gracefully gripping her blade as her other hand mirrored the move. His arms were effectively crossed over his chest as his back was driven against the wall, and all he heard for a few moments was the sound of his own breathing as he recovered from the shock of her manoeuvre. That was a new one…

"Expect the unexpected," she told him in a low, victorious purr of a voice, eyes locking in his at close proximity again. It was then that Tom felt the thunder of his heart in his chest, against his ribcage, and he didn't respond right away as a result, instead hoping to calm down the drumming.

"If I expect it," he began in a pant, "then it's not unexpected anymore… is it?" There was a defiance in his tone, and that subtle optimism that never quite died, no matter the situation. Even in such obvious defeat, he could find an up side. This was, after all, a learning experience, and Tom knew that he wasn't the only man in the _League_ who wouldn't complain about the closeness he now shared with the vampiress.

"Hmm." Her red lips pursed thoughtfully for a moment, before her eyes flickered red just at the edges; if he would have blinked, he would have missed it. "A good point…" One dark brow lifted, and she smiled slyly, before slinking back, releasing her capturing grip on his wrists, essentially freeing him and allowing him to move forward from the wall. Regardless of the freedom to move, he remained in place for a short time, his arms lowering to his sides.

"You win again," he conceded, his hair falling in his eyes without being shaken back.

Admiring her blades briefly, she looked up at him with a humoured pensive quality, before she slipped the weapons away at her belt. The session was over. "Give it time," she said to him in her unmistakable soft but powerful voice. Eyes lingering on his for a while longer, she turned elegantly, and practically glided from the room without a sound.

Tom stared after her wordlessly and breathlessly, recovering, before he slumped back against the wall, letting his heart calm itself, and his lungs fill enough for his rhythm to return to normal.

He wondered if she knew what she did to him. If she did, she seemed to enjoy it… Tom supposed he would have to figure that one out for himself.

Some lessons, he mused, were simply self-taught, and could be nothing but.

**_Fin_**


End file.
